


Like Rattatas from a Sinking Ship

by Deejaymil



Category: House M.D., Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Crack Crossover, Crossover, Gen, House is the worst trainer ever, Humor, I wish I could get a job via Pokemon battle, Pokemon Battle, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 08:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5736220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deejaymil/pseuds/Deejaymil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edward Vogler wants House fired. House has other plans. Wilson's pretty sure that if House's 'other plans' involve his geriatric Rattata Steve McQueen, then they're all going to be in the unemployment line by Monday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Rattatas from a Sinking Ship

**Author's Note:**

> At least once a day, Gregory House considers that the inevitable heat death of the universe has the potential to improve the human race. He’s considering this remarkably early today. It’s not even ten yet.

“His tongue is blue.”                                                       

House spins his chair around and stares at the woman standing next to the boy on the exam table. She’s practically vibrating out of her skin with worry. He contemplates drawing it out longer. The boy obliges by sticking out said tongue and wiggling it. Ah yes. The very picture of disease.

“Keen observational skills,” House says. He can make her sweat. She’s enough of an idiot that she won’t even notice he’s doing it. “Clearly he didn’t inherit your multitudes of intelligence.”

“Huh?” the woman says, her brown eyes widening in confusion. It’s a good look on her. He enjoys it for a moment, before leaning over and snagging the bowl of candy with his cane to hook it closer. He takes out a handful and sorts through them, shoving half in his pocket and putting the green ones back in the bowl for the next sap to have clinic duty. Probably Wilson. He hopes Wilson. Wilson hates the green ones.

He chucks a sucker at the kid, who catches it with a grin. “Your kid is fine,” he snaps, standing and feeling his leg twinge. “But you may want to get your Oddish checked out.”

“Huh?” the woman says again. House glares at her. Idiot.

“Do you know exactly how many different kinds of bacteria live in the human mouth?” he asks her, limping to the door. _Clinic duty over for today,_ he thinks. It’s a personal rule. He’s going to have to avoid Cuddy for the next twenty-four hours now to avoid going over his ‘one oral fixation per day’ limit.

The woman shakes her head. He pauses. “Neither do I, but the answer is a lot. And your kid has been licking your Oddish. That’s why his tongue is blue, their bodies are covered in harmless spores that have a dye effect when touched. Buy the kid some candy or stop leaving delicious Pokémon around where he can reach them. Or continue leaving them around. Who am I to judge?”

The door swings shut between them with a satisfying click and he turns his stare onto Cuddy’s back, focusing all the annoyance of the past… twelve minutes… into a beam of irritation she can’t possibly ignore. She twitches and turns to face him and he quickly walks away, smirking. The man next to her watches him go, face inscrutable. House ignores him. He’s clearly unimportant, or else he wouldn’t be talking to Cuddy.

And he has minions to find and torture. Priorities.

 

* * *

 

Edward Vogler.

It’s a dramatic name. The kind of name fitting for a… arch-nemesis. House hasn’t had an arch-nemesis for a while. It seems appropriate that one has finally stumbled unwillingly into his path. When Vogler finally finds his way to House’s office, House barely spares him a glance. He’s still not entirely sold on whether or not the man is arch-nemesis material. He’ll need proof of that.

There’s a Pokéball attached to Vogler’s belt as he tries to intimidate House with a glare. House ignores him and focuses on the Pokéball instead. It’s a luxury ball, garishly decorated. Carried openly. Double locks on the front—clearly something high-levelled. Pretentious git. Even Wilson doesn’t flaunt his team, and he thinks the sun shines out of his Chansey’s cloacae.

“Just wanted to stop by and introduce myself. I’m Edward Vogler, the new Chairman of the Board.” The man smiles coldly, and sits down gingerly on the chair across from House’s desk. He’s trying to look intimidating. It’s almost cute. “In a way, I guess that makes me your boss.”

House lets his feet thump onto the desk and leans back. It gives Vogler a good look at his bare belt. The man’s eyes rake his hip and his smile grows. The kind of man who ranks people on their ability to fight animals for sport. How tedious. Hardly the kind of man House wants people thinking of as his arch-nemesis. He has a reputation to uphold, after all. How disappointing.

“Hardly an improvement on my last one,” House quips, bringing Vogler’s gaze back to his face. He waves his hand in a rough gesture towards Vogler’s chest. “You know… you’re just lacking… assets. Valuable assets.”

“This is not a game to me, Dr. House,” Vogler says, voice snapping angrily. Ooh, a temper. Useful.

“No, it’s not really. Not the kind of games you like anyway. What is it?” House tilts his head towards the Pokéball. “Something flashy and useless I bet. All bark and no bite. You could call it… toothless. About as useless as a man looking to fire a doctor with full tenure without the approval of the board.” Vogler’s hand drops to caress the ball and House almost groans. Sentiment. The idiot cares about the stupid beast. “So, unless you’ve got Cuddy in that ostentatious excuse for a Pokéball, and she has Wilson in her excuse for… balls… then you haven’t got a leg to stand on.”

Vogler stands and there’s something about his expression now that almost reminds House of himself. Except far less clever. And far more… urban. “I looked into that tenure thing, and you’re right. It’s actually easier for me to get rid of a board member like Cuddy or Wilson than to get rid of a doctor.” House stills at Vogler’s words, neck prickling slightly. “That’s interesting, isn’t it?”

Perhaps he really is arch-nemesis material.

Oh, Wilson is going to _hate_ this.

 

* * *

 

“He’s got Cuddy on the run.” Wilson leans against the glass, watching House with those stupid Stantler-eyes he’s perfected after years of crying on cancer patients’ shoulders. “You know it’s only a matter of time before he gets you, right?”

House flicks his wrist, sending his tennis ball hurtling into the air. He catches it smoothly and spins it on his finger, ignoring his friend. “They want me to fire one of them,” he says finally, jerking his head to where his Duckletts are gathered quacking at each other over the table in the next room. Chase looks at him through the window and frowns, his expression turning nervous. Ahh, the beauty of having insecure subordinates. They’re so easy to terrorise.

Wilson widens his eyes. “What? Are you going to? Which one?” The tennis ball thuds onto the ground and bounces against Wilson’s leg. He puts his foot on it, before stooping and picking it up. House watches him absently as he holds the ball out, cupped in his palm with a finger over the front. His mind ticks.

“No,” he says, sitting upright and almost laughing at the obviousness of the solution. “I’m not firing anyone.” He grabs his cane and limps from the room, leaving Wilson staring after him.

“Where are you going? House?”

House taps the elevator button impatiently. “To see a man about a mouse,” he calls back, before stepping dramatically into the elevator with a flourish.

 

* * *

 

“A Pokémon battle!” House raises his arms dramatically. Four pairs of eyes settle on him, and he quickly notes their expressions. Always good to know how people are going to react. And this lot are so depressingly predictable, it almost takes all the challenge out of it.

Cameron looks upset. Probably imagining fluffy Pokémon getting hurt, and getting weepy over the mental image. “Who’s battling?”

A roll of the eyes from Foreman. Oddly, the one who doesn’t need it explained to him. “You’re going to battle Vogler for your team? That’s a bit…” He trails off.

“Old-fashioned?” Chase grins, then looks guilty. Already planning how to rat him out to Vogler. That’s fine. He’s planned for this. Gregory House is anything but predictable.

And Wilson. Ahh, James Wilson. Never change, you pathetic bastard. “You don’t even _have_ Pokémon, House,” he says wearily, dropping his head into his heads. “And you’re not taking mine. Not after last time.” But House knows—if he asked him, he’d give them to him in a heartbeat. Because that’s how he rolls, eternally self-sacrificing. House doesn’t plan on asking him though.

“I stand by that a Pokémon whose signature move is ‘milk drink’ should be able to handle a little bit of kumis, even when administered via beer bong.” House distracts Wilson before he can reply by brandishing his brand new best friend. “Ta-dah! Meet… Steve McQueen!” The Rattata appears on the table with a cry, before wheezing and slumping slowly onto its side. The only sound in the room is its gasping breaths and the sound of Wilson’s hopes and dreams dying. House beams at him.

Cameron recoils in horror. “What the hell is that? It’s… why is it bald?”

“Did you steal that from the lab?” There’s a nerve under Foreman’s eye twitching. House adds it to his ‘list of things I’ve achieved today’.

“He’s going to help me catch a crack team to kick Vogler out of here on his bla…” House trails off as Foreman makes a warning noise in his throat. “… blubbering buttocks. You thought I was going to be racist, didn’t you? I’m not racist—I have a black arch-nemesis!”

“We’re all getting fired,” Cameron says to no one in particular. Wilson pats her on the back sympathetically.

No one has faith in his genius anymore.

 

* * *

 

“You can do this,” House tells Steve. “Crush him like… well, a bug-type. No offense.” The Rattata blinks slowly, and coughs, his purple tail drooping miserably. In front of them, the Weedle they’ve been attempting to beat hisses and slithers back off into the undergrowth. A Pidgey peers out of the trees and House thinks about sending Steve up there. Something damp drips off the end of Steve’s twitching nose, and House sighs. “Alright, fine. New plan. No battling. We don’t need a team anyway. Steve McQueen is a one Pokémon man, right?”

Steve coughs again.

House frowns. He’ll be damned if he lets Wilson be right about _anything_.

A sprinkler starts up nearby and a bunch of kids scream and flee from it. House considers throwing Steve at them and seeing if he levels up from their fear alone. Or just tripping them with his cane and beating them with the mouse until he levels up. That counts, right? He hadn’t exactly paid attention in Pokémon etiquette class. Instead, he picks up Steve and tucks him under his arm, limping out the park with the elderly animal flopping against his side. Eyeing the sprinklers as he goes, he considers his options.

 

* * *

 

“What’s Vogler got?” he demands, throwing open the door to the diagnostics room and swooping in.

“A grudge against you,” Chase supplies, smirking. He glances at Cameron, and the smirk disappears when he sees she’s not smiling.

“Millions of dollars?” Foreman tries.

“Should you really be carrying that around the hospital?” Cameron wrinkles her nose. “He smells pretty bad, House. Doesn’t he have a Pokéball? And we have a case we should be working on.”

House spares a look at the whiteboard. “Of course he smells bad, it’s the smell of a winner. Not that any of you in here would know that scent, unless you’ve been sniffing my chair.” He lets his gaze hover on Chase for longer than necessary. “It’s encephalitis. And she’s not going to die anytime today; Steve, however, might. I mean, what _Pokémon_ does Vogler have?”

“Probably something expensive. It’s not encephalitis, House, we tested for that.” Chase breaks eye-contact first, flushing. Guilty. “A legendary maybe?”

“In a luxury ball? Poor excuse for a legendary in anything less than an ultra. Maybe it’s bacterial.” Foreman reaches for the marker and House smacks his hand with his cane.

“Stay on topic,” he warns him, shifting Steve in his arms. The Pokémon is a warm weight, distracting. He’ll never tell Wilson, but he’s almost getting fond of the thing. Almost.

“It’s a Charizard, House,” Cameron snaps, grabbing the end of his cane. “It’s his first Pokémon, he’s had it forever, and if you send Steve out against it, it will _crush_ him. Now, can we actually do the work we’re being paid to do, or shall we just paint the words ‘fire us’ on our foreheads right now and save Vogler the marker expense?”

House stares at her.

Well, that was unpredictable.

“I should ask how you know that, but if you actually answer me neither Foreman nor Chase are going to be able to focus on anything for days,” he says. “You lot work, I’m going to go save your jobs. You can thank me later.” He can feel them watching him as he almost bounces out the door, and victory is so close he can taste it.

 

* * *

 

Wilson opens the door to his office and pushes the blinds aside, ducking into the gloom. Then he stops. And looks around.

And looks around again, slower this time.

“Should I even ask?” he says, mouth settling into a firm line. Candlelight makes his face look sallow, lined with stress. “House, you know there are rules against this kind of thing…”

House grins up at him from his seat on the floor next to Steve, looking dapper in a bowtie. House has even combed her whiskers. She scrubs up well, looking almost healthy. There’s no way House is sending her back down for the lab to manhandle now he’s got her all handsome and on the market.

And besides, romance is in the air.

The air in the office is stifling, from the candles, the incense and the waves of muted heat radiating off the neck and flank of the Ponyta sitting awkwardly on the floor in front of the desk, nuzzling the bowl of salad House has shoved in front of it. There’s a smouldering bow on his head and a quizzical expression on his long face as he looks from the salad to House, to the sleepy Rattata.

“Steve’s speed dating,” House tells his friend cheerfully. “Speed dating as in, this is probably the only date she’ll be able to fit in before she carks it, so she has to make it quick.”

Wilson closes his eyes for a second. “She?” he finally squeaks out.

“Steve also wants you to respect her life choices.”

“You’re not taking this seriously at all, are you House? Do you even care about your job? Your employees’ jobs? _My_ job?”

House quickly schools his expression to look sombre and gestures to the plate of left-over spaghetti he’d stolen from the nurses’ fridge. “On the contrary, does this look like I’m not taking it seriously? I did research, Wilson. This is guaranteed to work. Disney assures me, and Disney has never, ever steered me wrong before.”

“Where did you even _get_ a Ponyta?”

A panicked shout from the next room and House surges to his feet, reaching for his cane. “Oh, Chase may have left his bag lying around and I just… borrowed him. Now, to leave these two lovebirds alone while I distract the Australian with the promise of freedom from his crimes.” He pushes Wilson out and pulls the blinds shut behind them, the two Pokémon watching them go. “You kids be naughty now!”

 

* * *

 

“I got sacked.” Wilson’s Stantler-eyes are in full force, aimed directly at House, but under the misery House can see anger simmering. He’ll never admit that sometimes, even on him, the Stantler-eyes work.

“Just off the board, right?” He’d managed to keep the success of his plan under wraps for now. The Pokéball burns in his pocket. Perhaps he should tell him…

“He gave me the option of resigning. I took it.” Wilson slumps into his chair, and looks truly beaten. Something unfamiliar pinches in House’s chest, and he pushes the feeling back fiercely. Wilson launches into a rant, as though that has a hope of changing things. “I’ve got no kids, my marriage sucks… I’ve only got two things that work for me: this job and this stupid, screwed-up friendship, and neither mattered enough to you to give one lousy speech.”

That hurt. Ouch. House flinches, and hides it before Wilson looks up at him.

Then he stops hiding it because he’s not going to fight for this alone. “They mattered. If I could do it all again—”

“You’d do the exact same thing.” Wilson’s Chansey lays a reassuring hand on his friend’s arm, trilling softly. House can’t see his face. He’s not sure he wants to. He tucks his hand in his pocket, and smooths a thumb over the Pokéball. Being his arch-nemesis is one thing, but hurting Wilson is entirely another. Time to end this.

 

* * *

 

The look on Cuddy’s face when he bursts into the board meeting is one he’ll treasure to his dying days. Vogler’s face, on the other hand, suggests that if he has anything to do with it, House will only have about ten minutes or so to enjoy that look.

“Edward Vogler, plus sized pain in our asses!” House booms, holding his hand up and displaying the Pokéball in the time-honoured tradition of battlers and homeless twelve-year olds everywhere. “I challenge you to a Pokémon battle! Loser gets the hell out of this hospital.”

Groans fill the room. “House,” Cuddy begins warningly. She looks tense. Vogler was probably just about to fire her. House savours being the hero for once. “This isn’t the fifties—you can’t bet peoples’ jobs on a battle anymore.”

House spins his hand and the Pokéball clatters onto the table, bursting open to reveal a bright-eyed and trembling miniature version of its mother. “Meet Steve McQueen… Two! Do you accept my challenge?”

Vogler stares at the baby Rattata, then looks up at House and laughs almost hysterically. “You want to battle me for your job with an _infant_? Have you always been insane, or are you cracking under the pressure?”

Panting behind him and Wilson appears, face red and chest heaving. He’d clearly sprinted the whole way here when someone blonde and Australian tattled on House after finding his Ponyta. Traitorous bastard. “House, here,” Wilson hisses, holding his hand out. Surprising. He’d have thought Wilson would try to drag him out of here by his feet, not offer him the use of his Pokémon in what is quite obviously a hopelessly one-sided battle. House assumes Wilson has finally clicked on that they really have nothing left to lose at this point.

“This is ridiculous,” one of the board members complains, standing. “We’re halfway through a meeting and if Dr. House thinks—”

“I accept,” Vogler interrupts, releasing the catch on his belt and palming the luxury ball. “I will delight in removing Gregory House from this hospital in the most embarrassing way possible—his entire career boiling down to a tiny purple mouse and his overinflated ego.”

The table groans under the sudden weight of the snarling Charizard and the board members scatter at its wings spread to keep its balance, fiery tail narrowly missing Cuddy’s cleavage as she backs up. House smirks at her.

“Righto, first shot to me because I’m clearly at a disadvantage,” House announces, reaching out with his cane and pointing it upwards. Everyone in the room follows his cane with their eyes, looking up. “Steve, see this little knobbly bit right here? You’re about to learn what a fire suppression system is. Flame wheel it, there’s a good mousie.”

Vogler blinks and his eyes widen as flames flicker out the tiny mouse’s mouth as it aims. “Wait!” he shouts, but it’s too late.

They’re drenched in seconds and the Charizard roars in terror and tries to cover its tail with his wings. Vogler recalls it, a tendon in his neck pulsing in anger. And then there’s silence, except for the sound of the water crashing around them and the wail of the fire alarm.

“You recalled your Pokémon first,” Wilson says eventually, very slowly. “So… by all the rules… House wins.”

House smiles.

“Those for the immediate dismissal of Edward Vogler,” Cuddy says finally. House beams and memorises how her blouse looks when soaked for future consideration.

 

* * *

 

“You just cost us one hundred million of Vogler’s money, not to mention the property damage by setting off the sprinklers.” Cuddy grabs his glass and downs it. House tries to grab it back, but he can’t reach without disturbing the two snoozing mice Pokémon in his lap. “You should be mourning. I know I am.”

“You voted to get rid of him,” House points out reasonably.

“Lesser of two evils.” She glares at him one final time, and wanders away with her mouth glum. House leans his head back in the chair and closes his eyes, considering just how he much mess his two new flatmates were going to cause. He couldn’t exactly get rid of them now, not after what they’d done for them all. Besides, even if he had to reorganize the flat a little to accommodate them…

Worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> **Edited August, 2017.**


End file.
